


The Volcano Erupts

by milkyway



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mates, One Shot, One True Pairing, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 12:58:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4436375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkyway/pseuds/milkyway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek have moved into their new house, and Derek isn't used to all the space...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Volcano Erupts

Stiles calls it the Volcano Method.

Important things erupt from the centre, less important things get strewn further and further away in concentric circles.

It works for papers on the desk, packing cupboards, and the laundry too.

Except today.

“Stiles... where the hell are my...”

“Ties?” The brunet’s voice is heavy with sleep. In the corner of the bedroom, he can make out Derek pacing up and down the walk-in-cupboard. His hair is wet, he’s buttoning up a crisp white cotton shirt, and, adorably, he’s still only in boxers and socks below the waist.

“Yes! I can’t find anything!”

“Bottom right built in cupboard, top tray.”

“Tray... what the...”

“And thank you, Stiles,” says the werewolf’s mate, grinning to himself as he takes a sip of the coffee Derek just brought him.

“Um. Yeah. You colour-coded them?!”

“Well, yes. Like your shirts and your trousers, if you bothered to take a look. Everything on the left is yours, the right is mine.”

“But... but...”

Derek is confused. In the cramped apartment on Haight, everything was a technicolor mess. He had to sniff his way between his clothes and Stiles’s.

“It’s called space, Derek. We finally have space.”

Derek thumbs the ties. Each one has been lovingly sorted, folded, arranged as if a jewel in a box. He looks at Stiles and smiles shyly.

“When did you do this?”

“Yesterday, when you were at work and I had my off day. I figured my husband deserves some sanity with his laundry now that we have a dressing room the size of, I don’t know, Djibouti or something.”

“You amaze me,” Derek says, furrowing his brow and gazing at his husband with a ditzy smile. He shudders, thinking of Stiles’s beautiful hands thumbing through all his clothes, sorting them, hanging them up, gently rubbing his minty human scent on them.

“Well, doesn’t someone look excited,” says Stiles, getting up and looking at Derek’s tenting boxers.

The werewolf blushes. “I was just...” he says, and decides not to answer, Stiles might think it weird that Derek’s all turned on that those goddamn beautiful hands of Stiles have touched his most intimate possessions...

Stiles is wearing a faded old T-shirt of Derek’s and lurid tartan boxers that Derek refers to as “the kilt.” Stiles walks towards his husband and hugs him from behind, nuzzling his neck. He reaches down and squirrels a forefinger inside the waistband of Derek’s underwear and slowly traces a circle around his side to the werewolf’s back.

“If only I could get you out of these now,” Stiles sighs, “but you have to get dressed.”

“You’re torturing me,” Derek groans, smelling the arousal on both of them. His mate is a proper tease.

“That’s a spouse’s job, dear sweet wolf of mine. I think go for the black chinos. And the turquoise tie. Brings out your eyes.”

“Yes, sir,” Derek huffs, but then turns around. He presses himself against Stiles; the brunet takes a short little breath.

“I hear delayed gratification is a sign of a mature personality,” says Stiles. “Do you teach your students that?”

“You’re a mean one, Dr Stilinski.” Derek bares his teeth briefly, showing his canines that have lengthened from arousal.

“Go get ‘em,” says Stiles. “Your Psych 101 class awaits your brilliance.”

“You better be home early,” Derek grunts, as he pulls on the trousers and proceeds to tie his tie. Stiles adjusts the tie carefully, then gives his husband a thumbs up.

“Why early?’”

Derek says nothing, but bends down and ties his shoelaces. Then he gets up, and brushes his hand ever so gently across Stiles’s groin.

“Delayed gratification.” Derek smirks, walking out the room down the stairs.

“You stole my idea!”

Stiles is a little petulant as he settles back into bed. His first patient is only at 10, so he can nap a bit before getting on with the day. As he closes his eyes, he hears the new Volvo disappearing down the driveway, he smells the paint still drying in the guest room. Their newly built house creaks, groans, still unsure of itself, as if it were aware that where it stands Derek’s old house once nurtured generations of families.

But the house had better not be prudish, Stiles thinks, as several volcanoes are going to erupt in the bedroom when Derek comes home.


End file.
